One of the heavier troopers in the cabin flicked off his PCPU, straightening up in his heavy armour. His orange eyes stare out from his grey face, covered in a pattern of tatoos that combines "traditional" Nazzadi elements with Maori elements at the rest of the room, with far more intensity than might be expected from a military grunt.
"Did I just hear the name "Bertram Gregory"," he asked, then shrugged. "Well, if we're going to be introducing each other," he said, in an accent that you can't immediately place, "I'm Lance-Corporal Mala Whenua, on secondment from the NEG military. I'm a heavy trooper. Look over at the back of the cabin, in that case." He points over at the opposite side of the room to the Crusader powered armour, where a large black case is secured up against the wall.
"I'm an anti-material specialist," he explains. "My job in life, basically, is to put a 20mm railgun round through the armour and the body of people like him." He nods towards Alex. "Well, not directly like him, but I've claimed my fair share of Mudskippers and other EoD suits. Give me a Muskipper any day, over the cultists and Hybrids." He smiled, widely, revealing that he had the teeth of the Nazzadi side of his family.
"Yeah, Deep Ones are dumb. If you find a bright Deep One, it's pretty certain that it used to be a Hybrid."
He moves as to press play again on his PCPU.
Cthulhutech: The Borderlines of the World
Moderator: B4UTRUST
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Academia Nut
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#27
"Just so long as its not being pointed at me I like those rail guns. They put nice dents in anything capable of denting me. It's when fucking Blanks get their hands on them that I hate them. That or the big microwave guns the bugs use," Alex said while absentmindedly scratching at his chest, shuddering slightly at the memories. "Those really hurt if you get hit by one."
Fucking bugs.
Fucking bugs.
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frigidmagi
- Dragon Death-Marine General
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#28
LCpl Yu cracked open an eye. The words were longer and they were comparing brain size as opposed to muscle size but the yipping still reminded him of the bullshiting street thugs did before going out to a fight or a robbery. The old Color Sgt might have had a point where he had snorted and said that the kids in his youth and young troopers might as well just drop their pants and compare dick sizes to be done with it.
He popped his neck, his hands patted the pistol and knife at his hip, the shotgun attached to his pack and the machine gun on his lap and flowed up to his chest to check all his ammo pouches. His hand drifted down to his canteens and kit on his belt as the final check. Some thought he carried to many guns. Let them fight on the front without air support against crazed cannibals and monsters and then they could talk. He heard some of the fellows that had staggered out with him ended up carrying swords of all things. He didn't see what they could do with a sword that would make it worth replacing a pistol or a knife for.
He grunted in satisfaction. Everything was where it was suppose to be. Still he felt twitchy, maybe because of the civvies blathering away like it was a day trip, tormenting the boots who didn't know any better and so forth. He rubbed the scar on his throat and twitched. He needed to walk about a little. Get the kinks out before touch down. Check the boots, and his footware to.
He got out of his seat. He was short compared to the round eyes and Nazzadi, a product more the crappy diet of slum dwellers then anything else. He made up for it in muscle however, thick shoulders and a broad chest bespoke the results of an entire adult life in training or fighting. He stepped easily and lightly given the armor and gear he carried.
He began to walk down the werewolf transport stopping occasionally to check or straighten out a boot's gear. He didn't speak much while doing so mostly grunting or gesturing. Since the fight, he didn't care much for the sound of his voice.
He popped his neck, his hands patted the pistol and knife at his hip, the shotgun attached to his pack and the machine gun on his lap and flowed up to his chest to check all his ammo pouches. His hand drifted down to his canteens and kit on his belt as the final check. Some thought he carried to many guns. Let them fight on the front without air support against crazed cannibals and monsters and then they could talk. He heard some of the fellows that had staggered out with him ended up carrying swords of all things. He didn't see what they could do with a sword that would make it worth replacing a pistol or a knife for.
He grunted in satisfaction. Everything was where it was suppose to be. Still he felt twitchy, maybe because of the civvies blathering away like it was a day trip, tormenting the boots who didn't know any better and so forth. He rubbed the scar on his throat and twitched. He needed to walk about a little. Get the kinks out before touch down. Check the boots, and his footware to.
He got out of his seat. He was short compared to the round eyes and Nazzadi, a product more the crappy diet of slum dwellers then anything else. He made up for it in muscle however, thick shoulders and a broad chest bespoke the results of an entire adult life in training or fighting. He stepped easily and lightly given the armor and gear he carried.
He began to walk down the werewolf transport stopping occasionally to check or straighten out a boot's gear. He didn't speak much while doing so mostly grunting or gesturing. Since the fight, he didn't care much for the sound of his voice.
"it takes two sides to end a war but only one to start one. And those who do not have swords may still die upon them." Tolken
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EarthScorpion
- Apprentice
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#29
As the members of the team bicker with each other, and nerves run high in the pre-drop adrenaline rush, the door that leads to the cockpit slides open, and the leader of the team enters the hold, closing the door behind him.
He's a short, stocky Nazzadi male, slightly round-faced and perhaps a little overweight. He, as the standard Armacham team leaders do, holds a nominal rank of Sergeant (E-5) in the NEG military, but if he was originally a member of the military, he left most of the discipline behind when Armacham found him. His tattoos are ornate and florid, and curve over the top of his bald head and down his neck.
Alex, Eric, Bertram and Agiuo notice, though, as he steps under the patch of bright light by the door, that there are little blemishes all over his skin, most evident on his white-work tattoos, but present on the rest of his skin, too. They look like scars; tiny pockmarks in a remarkably regular pattern. They might be acne scars (rare enough in this age of medicine and arcanotherapy), but it almost looks like he was pushed, face first, into something pointy, like a bed of nails. You're fairly sure that you don't remember them, from the brief introduction before you got loaded up onto the transport.
On the other hand, it wasn't as it there was much time, before you were bustled on board. Not even time for a proper explanation.
The man massages the back of his neck, and swallows.
"People," he begins, in a Nazzadi accent that Dovara alone can recognise as the accent of what had been the scientific caste of the society that the Migou had invented. Were it to be converted into English, it would be a rather stuffy sounding Recieved Pronounciation.
Of course, among the members of the team that don't speak Nazzadi, the nuance is entirely lost; the phonetic English sounding almost the same as any other Nazzadi speaking.
"Men and women. I am Jonipula Ser, the Lictor of this team. That's the one in charge; Armacham can be a little funny sometimes about their naming conventions."
He paused, and started again. "Now, this is the first mission we've been sent on together, and for some of you, this is your first field position with the Armacham Charter." He swallows hard, again. "I won't lie to you when I say that this is not how it was meant to happen. You were to be placed together, that so much is true. However, normally we would, as a team, have four to six months of training and teamwork, to fill in the holes in the combined skill set, and to proof yourself against Aeon War Syndrome.
Now, some of you," he nods at Alex and Bertram in particular, "some of you have experience at the things that we will encounter. From the Migou to cultists to Deep Ones; there is not an enemy of humanity that we will not encounter at some point, although," he says, with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, which stare, cold, unblinking, "usually not all at once."
He pauses, perhaps for laughter. There is a nervous titter from the fidgeting new recruit.
"Now, you might be wondering why we're sending a group out that hasn't been through the normal Armacham training. I'm sure you're not the only ones; I protested to my superiors." He swallows, again. "The fact is, it's a matter of urgency. We're what might be viewed as a paragovernment organisation; under the auspices of the New Earth Government and the NEA, but not quite of it. We're not large compared to the GIA or the OIS; we're a scalpel, that protects and serves the vital research groups that provide so much to the war effort, even up to the Engel Project itself. And they can be very demanding. The fact is, the rest of the teams based in London-2 are all engaged or recuperating. And the matter is urgent, in a rather odd way that doesn't appear self-evident.
At 03:18 yesterday, the Project Herkunft research centre in the Ballydehob Enclave, in the south of Ireland, sent out a dead man's handle message, indicating catastrophic D-Engine failure. The telemetry from the sensors in the centre indicated, just before their complete failure, that there had been a complete E-type breakdown, and that the majority of the facility was on fire. We have not been able to contact the centre since."
His face took on a slightly grim cast.
"Now, normally, this wouldn't be our responsibility. The local NEA forces would contain what they could, until reinforcements could be sent. However, from the weather overflight at 03:41, the facility appeared to be completely intact, although shut down, it's D-Engine deactivated. The NEA forces stationed in the Ballydehob Enclave reported no disturbances. The Dagonites have a major presence in Ireland, it is true, but they're mostly contained to the North and the West, and none of their forces have been seen anywhere near the centre.
In short, it's a mystery. Even then, we would have waited, normally, until we could get a trained team on the case, but I was presented with an order signed directly by the Representative of the Ashcroft Foundation in London-2 that the Armacham Charter needed to investigate as fast as possible. This whole situation is odd, and frankly I want to bring you all back alive, but we're going into it almost blind. Therefore, I'm keeping the Werewolf on active standby at all times, and we're landing just outside the Ballydehob Enclave, in case the NEA forces have been compromised. Should they not have been, we will enter the town. Our first task will be to recon the town, before we investigate the facility ourselves."
He looks vaguely guilty.
"I'm really sorry about this. I'm sure you have questions; I do, too. But I'll answer yours to the best of my abilities."
He's a short, stocky Nazzadi male, slightly round-faced and perhaps a little overweight. He, as the standard Armacham team leaders do, holds a nominal rank of Sergeant (E-5) in the NEG military, but if he was originally a member of the military, he left most of the discipline behind when Armacham found him. His tattoos are ornate and florid, and curve over the top of his bald head and down his neck.
Alex, Eric, Bertram and Agiuo notice, though, as he steps under the patch of bright light by the door, that there are little blemishes all over his skin, most evident on his white-work tattoos, but present on the rest of his skin, too. They look like scars; tiny pockmarks in a remarkably regular pattern. They might be acne scars (rare enough in this age of medicine and arcanotherapy), but it almost looks like he was pushed, face first, into something pointy, like a bed of nails. You're fairly sure that you don't remember them, from the brief introduction before you got loaded up onto the transport.
On the other hand, it wasn't as it there was much time, before you were bustled on board. Not even time for a proper explanation.
The man massages the back of his neck, and swallows.
"People," he begins, in a Nazzadi accent that Dovara alone can recognise as the accent of what had been the scientific caste of the society that the Migou had invented. Were it to be converted into English, it would be a rather stuffy sounding Recieved Pronounciation.
Of course, among the members of the team that don't speak Nazzadi, the nuance is entirely lost; the phonetic English sounding almost the same as any other Nazzadi speaking.
"Men and women. I am Jonipula Ser, the Lictor of this team. That's the one in charge; Armacham can be a little funny sometimes about their naming conventions."
He paused, and started again. "Now, this is the first mission we've been sent on together, and for some of you, this is your first field position with the Armacham Charter." He swallows hard, again. "I won't lie to you when I say that this is not how it was meant to happen. You were to be placed together, that so much is true. However, normally we would, as a team, have four to six months of training and teamwork, to fill in the holes in the combined skill set, and to proof yourself against Aeon War Syndrome.
Now, some of you," he nods at Alex and Bertram in particular, "some of you have experience at the things that we will encounter. From the Migou to cultists to Deep Ones; there is not an enemy of humanity that we will not encounter at some point, although," he says, with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, which stare, cold, unblinking, "usually not all at once."
He pauses, perhaps for laughter. There is a nervous titter from the fidgeting new recruit.
"Now, you might be wondering why we're sending a group out that hasn't been through the normal Armacham training. I'm sure you're not the only ones; I protested to my superiors." He swallows, again. "The fact is, it's a matter of urgency. We're what might be viewed as a paragovernment organisation; under the auspices of the New Earth Government and the NEA, but not quite of it. We're not large compared to the GIA or the OIS; we're a scalpel, that protects and serves the vital research groups that provide so much to the war effort, even up to the Engel Project itself. And they can be very demanding. The fact is, the rest of the teams based in London-2 are all engaged or recuperating. And the matter is urgent, in a rather odd way that doesn't appear self-evident.
At 03:18 yesterday, the Project Herkunft research centre in the Ballydehob Enclave, in the south of Ireland, sent out a dead man's handle message, indicating catastrophic D-Engine failure. The telemetry from the sensors in the centre indicated, just before their complete failure, that there had been a complete E-type breakdown, and that the majority of the facility was on fire. We have not been able to contact the centre since."
His face took on a slightly grim cast.
"Now, normally, this wouldn't be our responsibility. The local NEA forces would contain what they could, until reinforcements could be sent. However, from the weather overflight at 03:41, the facility appeared to be completely intact, although shut down, it's D-Engine deactivated. The NEA forces stationed in the Ballydehob Enclave reported no disturbances. The Dagonites have a major presence in Ireland, it is true, but they're mostly contained to the North and the West, and none of their forces have been seen anywhere near the centre.
In short, it's a mystery. Even then, we would have waited, normally, until we could get a trained team on the case, but I was presented with an order signed directly by the Representative of the Ashcroft Foundation in London-2 that the Armacham Charter needed to investigate as fast as possible. This whole situation is odd, and frankly I want to bring you all back alive, but we're going into it almost blind. Therefore, I'm keeping the Werewolf on active standby at all times, and we're landing just outside the Ballydehob Enclave, in case the NEA forces have been compromised. Should they not have been, we will enter the town. Our first task will be to recon the town, before we investigate the facility ourselves."
He looks vaguely guilty.
"I'm really sorry about this. I'm sure you have questions; I do, too. But I'll answer yours to the best of my abilities."
#30
It was the familiar accent that drew his attention. It had not been his mother’s accent when he had grown up but it had been common enough in the Nazzadi nation. He had been keeping to himself all the while, listening to the others more so than watching them as they sought to establish their own dominance over the group as well as their own unique credentials. He saw no need to engage in such behavior. The truth of the matter was that they had all been identified by the Armacham charter and placed together for this mission. Logically, that meant that each individual provided something that was vital to the team. He did not know a great deal about Armacham but he doubted that they would set up a team for failure; then again, considering some of the things that he had seen in the past year.
Maybe we are here to fail.
His body shifted in his seat as he leaned forward, the black combat boots matching perfectly with black Spectrashield combat gear. Black was his favorite color and his ensemble only contrasted with two pairs of pins that were placed on either side of his neck. The first pin was a red octagon with a symbol inside that identified him as a para-psychic. The other, a gold and red triangle of similar size that identified him as a telekinetic. Violet eyes contrasted sharply with black hair as they opened and focused on the Nazzadi as he continued. He did more than listen, he paid attention to the man’s body language. It was easier to train the mouth to lie than to train the entire body. It had been an accepted truth during his time in OIS and he tried to use those skills now as he had then.
Ah, so somewhere along the line someone had fucked up.
A part of him had wondered if Armacham had simply looked at his record and expected that with his background he had not needed more training. It was good to finally be informed that somewhere along the line an error had been made. It was true that with his background in CTD and OIS, he would find a way to mesh together into a unit. However, he had no idea how any of the people around him would react to a combat situation. He glanced at those gathered around him briefly, seeking to place voices and words he had previously heard with their corresponding body. After his initial sweep, only the Asian soldier stood out. He seemed like someone not likely to fuck up and get them all killed in a firefight. Of course, they were not working for the NEG. He doubted that bullets and monsters would be their primary concern.
Jonipula glanced at Alex and Bertram first and stroked their ego. He paid careful attention to his words to them then, inwardly seeking to fit all the pieces of the puzzle in a manner that would convey some semblance of familiarity to him. His final words were met with a frown. He could not recall the last time that he had laughed. No, that was a lie; the day before he had lost Kilany, when they had spent a night alone in her bedroom.
Had it been that long?
His eyes tracked Jonipula as he continued. He had complained to his superiors but it was a matter of urgency. A potential gangbang as the humans said by the four enemies of humanity and we are being rushed to the field without any sort of training as a coherent unit. The thought danced and slithered across the surface of his mind before it was ruthlessly suppressed.
Why am I surprised?
The words continued to tumble from Jonipula’s lips painting an increasingly more useful picture as to why they were gathered and what sort of expectations existed for them. In the end, Jonipula went silent after showing them all the sort of hand that he held. It was a pretty flimsy hand, but their duty seemed clear. He had once enjoyed mysteries, every potential mission in the counterterrorism division had been such a puzzle. Where the hostages were most likely held? What entry points offered the highest chance of success? Those had been mental exercises that he had enjoyed enormously. His time in the OIS had changed his perception of such puzzles and dampened his enthusiasm. What was the point of a puzzle that you could never solve?
“Seems straight forward enough.â€
Maybe we are here to fail.
His body shifted in his seat as he leaned forward, the black combat boots matching perfectly with black Spectrashield combat gear. Black was his favorite color and his ensemble only contrasted with two pairs of pins that were placed on either side of his neck. The first pin was a red octagon with a symbol inside that identified him as a para-psychic. The other, a gold and red triangle of similar size that identified him as a telekinetic. Violet eyes contrasted sharply with black hair as they opened and focused on the Nazzadi as he continued. He did more than listen, he paid attention to the man’s body language. It was easier to train the mouth to lie than to train the entire body. It had been an accepted truth during his time in OIS and he tried to use those skills now as he had then.
Ah, so somewhere along the line someone had fucked up.
A part of him had wondered if Armacham had simply looked at his record and expected that with his background he had not needed more training. It was good to finally be informed that somewhere along the line an error had been made. It was true that with his background in CTD and OIS, he would find a way to mesh together into a unit. However, he had no idea how any of the people around him would react to a combat situation. He glanced at those gathered around him briefly, seeking to place voices and words he had previously heard with their corresponding body. After his initial sweep, only the Asian soldier stood out. He seemed like someone not likely to fuck up and get them all killed in a firefight. Of course, they were not working for the NEG. He doubted that bullets and monsters would be their primary concern.
Jonipula glanced at Alex and Bertram first and stroked their ego. He paid careful attention to his words to them then, inwardly seeking to fit all the pieces of the puzzle in a manner that would convey some semblance of familiarity to him. His final words were met with a frown. He could not recall the last time that he had laughed. No, that was a lie; the day before he had lost Kilany, when they had spent a night alone in her bedroom.
Had it been that long?
His eyes tracked Jonipula as he continued. He had complained to his superiors but it was a matter of urgency. A potential gangbang as the humans said by the four enemies of humanity and we are being rushed to the field without any sort of training as a coherent unit. The thought danced and slithered across the surface of his mind before it was ruthlessly suppressed.
Why am I surprised?
The words continued to tumble from Jonipula’s lips painting an increasingly more useful picture as to why they were gathered and what sort of expectations existed for them. In the end, Jonipula went silent after showing them all the sort of hand that he held. It was a pretty flimsy hand, but their duty seemed clear. He had once enjoyed mysteries, every potential mission in the counterterrorism division had been such a puzzle. Where the hostages were most likely held? What entry points offered the highest chance of success? Those had been mental exercises that he had enjoyed enormously. His time in the OIS had changed his perception of such puzzles and dampened his enthusiasm. What was the point of a puzzle that you could never solve?
“Seems straight forward enough.â€
Last edited by Marcao on Sat Feb 28, 2009 11:22 am, edited 1 time in total.
The Peddler of Half Truths.
"Not OP, therefore weakest." - Cynical Cat (May 2016)
"A dog doesn’t need to show his teeth as long as his growl’s deep enough, his food bowl is full and he knows where all the bones are buried." - Frank Underwood
"Not OP, therefore weakest." - Cynical Cat (May 2016)
"A dog doesn’t need to show his teeth as long as his growl’s deep enough, his food bowl is full and he knows where all the bones are buried." - Frank Underwood
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Academia Nut
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#31
At Jonipula's entrance Alex went quiet as he intently listened in to what was being said. He nodded a few times, a frown growing on his face through the whole thing, until finally when the sergeant finished he let out what might be considered a strained whine; a sort of "Nnnnnnggggnnn..." sound.
Eventually he asked, "What is the standard ceiling clearance and floor strength of the facility?"
Eventually he asked, "What is the standard ceiling clearance and floor strength of the facility?"
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EarthScorpion
- Apprentice
- Posts: 82
- Joined: Sun Feb 15, 2009 8:14 am
- 15
#32
"Believe me," said Jonipula to Dovara, raising an eyebrow, "this is anything but simple. The entire situation is anomalous, and so I intend to take nothing for granted. Assumptions get people killed. We go slow and steady. I already feel we've rushed enough by sending an untrained team into the field to fulfil the whims of the higher ups in Ashcroft."
He coughed heavily, waving a hand in the direction of onlookers. Finally, he caught his breath. "It's nothing, it's nothing. Yes, one thing I have found is that it is better, in the sensitive operations that we do, to be thorough and slow than it is to be quick and dead. I've seen good people killed by insufficient caution."
He turned his head to face Alex.
"And you don't need to worry about the Mk 5. As a facility operating with Class B Hazardous Arcane Materials, the entire building complex has to support and permit passage to Powered Armour. Standard four metre high ceilings in all major areas, and three in lesser areas; the floor's built to allow pressures of up to 50 MPa; more than your suit exerts."
He coughed heavily, waving a hand in the direction of onlookers. Finally, he caught his breath. "It's nothing, it's nothing. Yes, one thing I have found is that it is better, in the sensitive operations that we do, to be thorough and slow than it is to be quick and dead. I've seen good people killed by insufficient caution."
He turned his head to face Alex.
"And you don't need to worry about the Mk 5. As a facility operating with Class B Hazardous Arcane Materials, the entire building complex has to support and permit passage to Powered Armour. Standard four metre high ceilings in all major areas, and three in lesser areas; the floor's built to allow pressures of up to 50 MPa; more than your suit exerts."
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#33
"Barring of course major materials or structural damage due to catastrophic D-Engine failure..." Alex muttered darkly before he asked, "Permission to begin final checks of my armour and equipment and then begin suiting up?"
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Losonti Tokash
- Apprentice
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- 19
- Location: New Brunswick, NJ
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#34
Erik was displeased. At the fact that, by their own admission, Armacham had cobbled this team together. At the almost total lack of information about what they were walking into. At this man in front of them with his lame jokes and weird scars.
But he said nothing. Wouldn't really accomplish much anyway.
But he said nothing. Wouldn't really accomplish much anyway.
#35
"I never said it would be simple" He said flatly violet eyes watching those of the Nazzadi closely. "I did say it seemed straight forward enough and nothing that you have stated so far seems to contradict that." He did not comment on his words about assumptions. His time in the CTD and the OIS had hammered into his skull not to take anything for granted when dealing with the enemies of Humanity and the Nazzadi. The fact that they were supposed to go slow and steady was a pleasant thought, but in all honesty he doubted anyone present wanted to linger in place any longer than they had to.
He did not expect any survivors so that meant getting in, letting the investigator types do their jobs and salvage as much as they could before getting the hell out. When the Nazzadi coughed he blinked, his final words met with a shrug. Things would happen as they would, he had no particular desire to die just yet. When the attention shifted towards Alex.
Yes, you will be nice and safe hiding inside your armored box.
His hands occupied themselves within the small backpack that he carried, his eyes darting from side to side making certain that everything that he had packed was in place. Eventually, his left hand brushed a metallic container and opened it. Within it, ten fine cigars were held. His father knew of his fondness for them. It was said that before the establishment of the Nazzadi nation, the finest cigars in the world had been made in the island nation of Cuba.
I will make use of you later.
He closed the box before he transferred it still sealed to his person and secured it within his trench coat. For the next minute or so he busied himself with the transferring of various tools from one container to another.
He did not expect any survivors so that meant getting in, letting the investigator types do their jobs and salvage as much as they could before getting the hell out. When the Nazzadi coughed he blinked, his final words met with a shrug. Things would happen as they would, he had no particular desire to die just yet. When the attention shifted towards Alex.
Yes, you will be nice and safe hiding inside your armored box.
His hands occupied themselves within the small backpack that he carried, his eyes darting from side to side making certain that everything that he had packed was in place. Eventually, his left hand brushed a metallic container and opened it. Within it, ten fine cigars were held. His father knew of his fondness for them. It was said that before the establishment of the Nazzadi nation, the finest cigars in the world had been made in the island nation of Cuba.
I will make use of you later.
He closed the box before he transferred it still sealed to his person and secured it within his trench coat. For the next minute or so he busied himself with the transferring of various tools from one container to another.
The Peddler of Half Truths.
"Not OP, therefore weakest." - Cynical Cat (May 2016)
"A dog doesn’t need to show his teeth as long as his growl’s deep enough, his food bowl is full and he knows where all the bones are buried." - Frank Underwood
"Not OP, therefore weakest." - Cynical Cat (May 2016)
"A dog doesn’t need to show his teeth as long as his growl’s deep enough, his food bowl is full and he knows where all the bones are buried." - Frank Underwood
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Kurald Galain
- Acolyte
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- Location: Oregon
#36
Tyche eye’s automatically drew themselves to the other xenomix as he talked. Her she stared at the pens on his jacket – when she joined signed up, she was elated to discover that the military could wave the requirement to ware an identifying mark for dangerous or invasive para-psychics, and she had applied as soon as she could for that dispensation. She wondered if he just hadn’t bothered – except she couldn’t imagine someone not wanting to be free of those little pins. She wondered if he just hadn’t had a chance – except that he looked like he had been in the military longer then she. She wondered if his last name lacked the power to open doors that hers had (and perversely, if he even had a last name, the Nazzadi didn’t, and those star-children that took after there more exotic parent often followed suit), if she had been given that privilege not because it was expected for a military para-psychic, but because of who she was.
Her parents hadn’t spoken to her since she enlisted, so she didn’t think she was getting spical treatment, but…
She shook her head, dismissing the disturbing line of enquiry.
She focused back on the briefing, raising her hand before making her inquires. “I have two questions ma’am. What was being researched? If the base has been taken over, could the assailants turn anything they find there against us? Are there any special risks associated with this research that we should be aware of?â€
Her parents hadn’t spoken to her since she enlisted, so she didn’t think she was getting spical treatment, but…
She shook her head, dismissing the disturbing line of enquiry.
She focused back on the briefing, raising her hand before making her inquires. “I have two questions ma’am. What was being researched? If the base has been taken over, could the assailants turn anything they find there against us? Are there any special risks associated with this research that we should be aware of?â€
Out- out are the lights- out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
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EarthScorpion
- Apprentice
- Posts: 82
- Joined: Sun Feb 15, 2009 8:14 am
- 15
#37
Jonipula nodded to Alex. "Go ahead. We're about forty minutes out; we're going to have to take the last part slowly to avoid the NEA forces in the Enclave picking us up, if they've been compromised."
The man winced as he heard the female xenomix's question.
"Yes. That's one of the problems. The research material is quote classified unquote in all but the most superficial ways. From what I was briefed Project Herkunft is a biological research group, specialising in human and Nazzadi biology, including psychology, genetics and origins, and how it interacts with the extra-dimensional." He sighed. "Who knows what that could cover? Deep One Hybrids, maybe? Parapsychics? The causes of Aeon War Syndrome? That's just cynical speculation from the kind of things that Armacham always seems to be involved in, by the way," he added hastily, "and in no way represents anything but guesswork." He straightened up a little. "But, yes, there was almost certainly some risks involved in the research. The place was licensed by the RTE to handle Class B Hazardous Arcane Materials, as I said earlier. That's always bad news."
Alex, Bertram, Erik and Dovara know exactly what Class B entails. Parapsychics of all ability ranges, all sorcery, including the illegal spells of Summoning of creatures up to and including a Bahki, but excluding anything that allows you to contact a greater being, experimental arcanotech and extra-dimensional biology.
Really, it's harder to think what research subjects that require a Class B facility couldn't have gone wrong. There are only a few Class A facilities in the world; there's rumoured to be ones in Chicago, London-2, Berlin, and maybe Tokyo-3. Class B covers the majority of the most dangerous things that humanity (and Nazzadity) pokes its collective nose into.
"I think you can guess my opinions on anyone surviving, if the facility's gone dark like this. And the telemetry readings, and how they defy observed empirical reality... it doesn't look good. We're to firstly find out what happened, and report back. Secondary objectives are to recover what data we can easily access and secure and extract any personnel for debriefing. If we can confirm that a severe breach in containment or other such high level threats, though, we're to evac and call in the proper containment teams."
The man winced as he heard the female xenomix's question.
"Yes. That's one of the problems. The research material is quote classified unquote in all but the most superficial ways. From what I was briefed Project Herkunft is a biological research group, specialising in human and Nazzadi biology, including psychology, genetics and origins, and how it interacts with the extra-dimensional." He sighed. "Who knows what that could cover? Deep One Hybrids, maybe? Parapsychics? The causes of Aeon War Syndrome? That's just cynical speculation from the kind of things that Armacham always seems to be involved in, by the way," he added hastily, "and in no way represents anything but guesswork." He straightened up a little. "But, yes, there was almost certainly some risks involved in the research. The place was licensed by the RTE to handle Class B Hazardous Arcane Materials, as I said earlier. That's always bad news."
Alex, Bertram, Erik and Dovara know exactly what Class B entails. Parapsychics of all ability ranges, all sorcery, including the illegal spells of Summoning of creatures up to and including a Bahki, but excluding anything that allows you to contact a greater being, experimental arcanotech and extra-dimensional biology.
Really, it's harder to think what research subjects that require a Class B facility couldn't have gone wrong. There are only a few Class A facilities in the world; there's rumoured to be ones in Chicago, London-2, Berlin, and maybe Tokyo-3. Class B covers the majority of the most dangerous things that humanity (and Nazzadity) pokes its collective nose into.
"I think you can guess my opinions on anyone surviving, if the facility's gone dark like this. And the telemetry readings, and how they defy observed empirical reality... it doesn't look good. We're to firstly find out what happened, and report back. Secondary objectives are to recover what data we can easily access and secure and extract any personnel for debriefing. If we can confirm that a severe breach in containment or other such high level threats, though, we're to evac and call in the proper containment teams."
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EarthScorpion
- Apprentice
- Posts: 82
- Joined: Sun Feb 15, 2009 8:14 am
- 15
#38
The heavy trooper, Mala, raises his armoured hand.
Jonipula looks at him. "You don't really need to do that. We're not a school, you know," he says, with a hint of a smile on his scarred face.
Mala shrugs. "Okay, then. I have a question. Do we have a burnt earth policy in effect, or are we meant to leave everything that we can intact for when the proper recovery teams come in to collect everything? It helps to know these things before we let loose with the incendiaries and the rockets."
"We're to minimise damage to the instalation" replied Jonipula, "insofar as it's possible, while recovering what data we c..."
There is a tearing, smashing noise, a discontinuity, as if you don't remember what happened exactly. When your eyes open, there is a wide hole torn through the chassis of the vehicle, punched through the floor, towards the rear, and passing through the ceiling, making an angle of about 40 degrees with the floor.
Jonipula was standing along the line between the holes. From the sticky feeling on some people's faces and the mess on the walls towards the front of the vehicle, he isn't going to be leading this team any more.
"Kinetic Impact!" yells the pilot, over the intercom. "Main Engine is disabled! Where the fuck did that come from!" There is some loud swearing. "Buckle in, because I'm going to try..."
There is another impact, and the vehicle shakes.
"...fuck, it came from the sea, going to try a landing on one manoeuvring thruster."
The air rushes through the holes. It would be sucking out all your gear, were it not for the fact that the NEG is competent and thus everyone has made sure that their possessions were stowed.
"Brace for impact!" the pilot calls out.
There is a crash, and everyone loses consciousness.
---
---
---
---
You regain consciousness to the wailing of an alarm. The emergency light has activated, casting everything in a clear white light. Everyone aches.
The front of the Werewolf appears to be crushed in, dug into the soil. The chance that the pilot and co-pilot survived that is low. The hold slopes downwards, the end elevated.
And all the time the siren wails.
Jonipula looks at him. "You don't really need to do that. We're not a school, you know," he says, with a hint of a smile on his scarred face.
Mala shrugs. "Okay, then. I have a question. Do we have a burnt earth policy in effect, or are we meant to leave everything that we can intact for when the proper recovery teams come in to collect everything? It helps to know these things before we let loose with the incendiaries and the rockets."
"We're to minimise damage to the instalation" replied Jonipula, "insofar as it's possible, while recovering what data we c..."
There is a tearing, smashing noise, a discontinuity, as if you don't remember what happened exactly. When your eyes open, there is a wide hole torn through the chassis of the vehicle, punched through the floor, towards the rear, and passing through the ceiling, making an angle of about 40 degrees with the floor.
Jonipula was standing along the line between the holes. From the sticky feeling on some people's faces and the mess on the walls towards the front of the vehicle, he isn't going to be leading this team any more.
"Kinetic Impact!" yells the pilot, over the intercom. "Main Engine is disabled! Where the fuck did that come from!" There is some loud swearing. "Buckle in, because I'm going to try..."
There is another impact, and the vehicle shakes.
"...fuck, it came from the sea, going to try a landing on one manoeuvring thruster."
The air rushes through the holes. It would be sucking out all your gear, were it not for the fact that the NEG is competent and thus everyone has made sure that their possessions were stowed.
"Brace for impact!" the pilot calls out.
There is a crash, and everyone loses consciousness.
---
---
---
---
You regain consciousness to the wailing of an alarm. The emergency light has activated, casting everything in a clear white light. Everyone aches.
The front of the Werewolf appears to be crushed in, dug into the soil. The chance that the pilot and co-pilot survived that is low. The hold slopes downwards, the end elevated.
And all the time the siren wails.
#39
After his visual inspection had finished he was satisfied that he had brought along everything that he had required. The seven hundred and twenty rounds may have seemed excessive but they were arrayed in a neat collection of color coordinated double magazines. If he needed more ammunition than that, then clearly a tactical withdrawal would be in order. He looked up then, having caught the exchange between the female xenomix and Jonipula. He was not surprised by what he heard.
Class B.
He smiled and there was no humor in it as he shook his head for a moment. He knew very well what Class B entailed. The compound could be crawling with just about any of dozens potential problems that would require a deft touch to handle. Personally, he would prefer for the threats to be relatively straight forward. During his time in the OIS, he had pushed his nose to dealing with sorcery, para-psychics and other supernatural phenomena. Those that were weak and just coming into their talents were difficult enough to deal with, but the truly powerful to the monstrous in these areas were such that the book no longer applied to them. He remembered a human para-psychic that simply had to make eye contact in order to boil you from the inside out. He remembered cultists whose bodies erupted into grotesque caricatures of humanity.
Give me a good old fashioned terrorist action any day.
“I like that part of the plan.â€
Class B.
He smiled and there was no humor in it as he shook his head for a moment. He knew very well what Class B entailed. The compound could be crawling with just about any of dozens potential problems that would require a deft touch to handle. Personally, he would prefer for the threats to be relatively straight forward. During his time in the OIS, he had pushed his nose to dealing with sorcery, para-psychics and other supernatural phenomena. Those that were weak and just coming into their talents were difficult enough to deal with, but the truly powerful to the monstrous in these areas were such that the book no longer applied to them. He remembered a human para-psychic that simply had to make eye contact in order to boil you from the inside out. He remembered cultists whose bodies erupted into grotesque caricatures of humanity.
Give me a good old fashioned terrorist action any day.
“I like that part of the plan.â€
Last edited by Marcao on Thu Mar 05, 2009 3:25 pm, edited 1 time in total.
The Peddler of Half Truths.
"Not OP, therefore weakest." - Cynical Cat (May 2016)
"A dog doesn’t need to show his teeth as long as his growl’s deep enough, his food bowl is full and he knows where all the bones are buried." - Frank Underwood
"Not OP, therefore weakest." - Cynical Cat (May 2016)
"A dog doesn’t need to show his teeth as long as his growl’s deep enough, his food bowl is full and he knows where all the bones are buried." - Frank Underwood
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Academia Nut
- Adept
- Posts: 1333
- Joined: Sun Sep 21, 2008 9:52 am
- 16
- Contact:
#40
Alex was running a final check of his armour, running his hand over the various seams, plates, and panels, performing his third and final check before the mission of his hardware when the sound of ripping metal and a spray of warm, sticky fluid caught him on the back. His nose filling with the stench of copper, iron, friction burnt composites and steels, and food in various stages of digestion, Alex turned around to discover Jonipula turned to little more than meat and that the floor between him and his violently shaking, and unoccupied, restraint harness was suffering from severe structural deficiencies that allowed Alex to take note of the landscape rushing beneath the Werewolf.
The Irish Sea was terrifingly dark.
As the deck bucked and pitched violently as the transport went out of control, Alex managed to half run, half drag himself along the roof via the handrails before hurling himself into his seat and somehow managed to get his restraints buckled before everything went black in a huge impact that threw him against the straps that kept him from smashing his brains out against a bulkhead. His warding also flared up, forces from outside conventional space and time pushing back against the more Newtonian ones that were trying to dash him to pieces, cushioning him and preventing harm.
Once Alex shook out the spinning feeling from his body being jarred about, he immediately undid his restraints and began manicly scrambling up the slanted floor towards his armour. Pragmatically speaking they were now probably in a battle zone and the massive firepower advantage could prove critical to all of their survival. In actuality though, Alex just wanted as much metal between him and the bullets and null beams and oh so sharp hooks and...
Grabbing on to the powered armour like a man in the ocean grabbing a piece of driftwood, Alex began popping open the hatches that had been secured for transit and scrambling inside as quickly as he could, all other concerns forgotten in his panicked, obsessive need to be inside the comforting embrace of his armour.
The Irish Sea was terrifingly dark.
As the deck bucked and pitched violently as the transport went out of control, Alex managed to half run, half drag himself along the roof via the handrails before hurling himself into his seat and somehow managed to get his restraints buckled before everything went black in a huge impact that threw him against the straps that kept him from smashing his brains out against a bulkhead. His warding also flared up, forces from outside conventional space and time pushing back against the more Newtonian ones that were trying to dash him to pieces, cushioning him and preventing harm.
Once Alex shook out the spinning feeling from his body being jarred about, he immediately undid his restraints and began manicly scrambling up the slanted floor towards his armour. Pragmatically speaking they were now probably in a battle zone and the massive firepower advantage could prove critical to all of their survival. In actuality though, Alex just wanted as much metal between him and the bullets and null beams and oh so sharp hooks and...
Grabbing on to the powered armour like a man in the ocean grabbing a piece of driftwood, Alex began popping open the hatches that had been secured for transit and scrambling inside as quickly as he could, all other concerns forgotten in his panicked, obsessive need to be inside the comforting embrace of his armour.
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Losonti Tokash
- Apprentice
- Posts: 98
- Joined: Thu Sep 29, 2005 8:25 am
- 19
- Location: New Brunswick, NJ
- Contact:
#41
Where did Jonipula go?
Erik went into shock almost immediately and had become stuck in a mental loop, oblivious to the mortally wounded transport or the sorcerer pulling himself along the roof. Erik tried for the fourth time to process what had just happened when the proverbial lights went out.
After returning to consciousness and getting oriented, Erik set about freeing himself from the restraints. He was hurt, but not badly. A cursory glance of the bay showed that everyone who wasn't obviously dead had similarly been mostly unhurt.
Jonipula's gone. Pilots dead, too. Half the team is still out.
He felt the first tendrils of panic creeping into the back of his mind and quashed them as best he could. Some things needed to be sorted out first.
Gun still there? Good. Some still unconscious. Have to check on them. Patch em up if I need to.
Erik went into shock almost immediately and had become stuck in a mental loop, oblivious to the mortally wounded transport or the sorcerer pulling himself along the roof. Erik tried for the fourth time to process what had just happened when the proverbial lights went out.
After returning to consciousness and getting oriented, Erik set about freeing himself from the restraints. He was hurt, but not badly. A cursory glance of the bay showed that everyone who wasn't obviously dead had similarly been mostly unhurt.
Jonipula's gone. Pilots dead, too. Half the team is still out.
He felt the first tendrils of panic creeping into the back of his mind and quashed them as best he could. Some things needed to be sorted out first.
Gun still there? Good. Some still unconscious. Have to check on them. Patch em up if I need to.
Last edited by Losonti Tokash on Thu Mar 05, 2009 4:49 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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frigidmagi
- Dragon Death-Marine General
- Posts: 14757
- Joined: Wed Jun 08, 2005 11:03 am
- 19
- Location: Alone and unafraid
#42
Aiguo came to on the floor. The harsh clear white light felt like it was stabbing him right through his eyelids. Clearly designed by covert cultist for the express purpose of making bad situations outright unlivable. Had to be. He sat up, the effort tearing a snarling twisted sounding croak from his throat. He looked around and was greeted by the essence of FUBAR. Has if the situation hasn't been SNAFU enough already.
He ran a check. Everything was attached, no strains or breaks. Ammo and weapons were where they were suppose to be. He was sore, bruised and annoyed. Something deserved to die for this. Alot of somethings.
Then he remembered Jonipula was dead and he didn't remember who was XO.
...
...
...
Fuck.
He levered himself to his feet. They had to figure out who was alive, dead or fucked up and the living with weapons had to form a perimeter now. Whatever shot them down wouldn't just leave the wreckage lie if it was any good at war. All of humanities enemies were depressingly good at war lately. Lately being all of Aiguo's life at this point.
He started checking the troops, anyone who was awake, alive and a trigger puller was going to get sent out to make a 360 and keep an eye out for hostiles. Anyone not awake he would leave for those with real medical training.
He hoped someone had a radio. They needed evac.
He ran a check. Everything was attached, no strains or breaks. Ammo and weapons were where they were suppose to be. He was sore, bruised and annoyed. Something deserved to die for this. Alot of somethings.
Then he remembered Jonipula was dead and he didn't remember who was XO.
...
...
...
Fuck.
He levered himself to his feet. They had to figure out who was alive, dead or fucked up and the living with weapons had to form a perimeter now. Whatever shot them down wouldn't just leave the wreckage lie if it was any good at war. All of humanities enemies were depressingly good at war lately. Lately being all of Aiguo's life at this point.
He started checking the troops, anyone who was awake, alive and a trigger puller was going to get sent out to make a 360 and keep an eye out for hostiles. Anyone not awake he would leave for those with real medical training.
He hoped someone had a radio. They needed evac.
"it takes two sides to end a war but only one to start one. And those who do not have swords may still die upon them." Tolken
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EarthScorpion
- Apprentice
- Posts: 82
- Joined: Sun Feb 15, 2009 8:14 am
- 15
#43
The rest of the crew have not fared so well. The human-looking Nazzadi, who is revealed to be called Salky, is also revealed to be medically trained.
"Is anyone... anyone at all a doctor? Even first aid would help. I need anyone who can do anything to help me," she says, voice shaking. She moves over to the Nazzadi support trooper beside her seat, the anti-material specialist Mala. She straitens up almost immediately after attaching the medsensor in her kit to the port on his armour.
"Damn... damn... damn," she said, unplugging the cable from the port and rummaging in her bag. "Vitals are weak... l-l-looks like some... some internal bleeding. I'm going to have to act fast to save him!" she added, even as her hands shook as she jabbed a mild sedative into his neck, trying to slow his heartbeat.
Of the team, three, apart from the unfortunate Mala, appear to be not moving; a Nazzadi man and a woman clad in heavy combat armour, and a thinner woman in a ballistic vest. The last one is bleeding freely from her nose. When the door to the pilot's section is opened, the pilot is clearly dead, head at an angle that the human spine cannot support. His Nazzadi co-pilot is groaning, loudly, and appears to at least be alive, although you'd need a more detailed examination to see how he is.
This leaves the conscious, moving members of the crew as Salky, who is swearing under her breath as she tries to save the heavy-weapons trooper and the other six who had been bickering with each other before the attack.
Outside, as Aiguo manually breaks the magnetic seals on the back ramp, is a gouge torn into the Irish countryside, the rich green land scarred by the crash. The APC broke away from its holding with the first bounce; it's lying at the start of the wound in the land. It appears to be mostly intact, although, again, you'd probably need a trained engineer to look at it, as there's a chance that the impact broke the D-Engines or A-Pod. The former would be worse, as the vehicle could still move on its tracks if the A-Pod were broken, albeit slowly, while the vehicle (and its all important weapons) would be essentially useless without its main engine.
The area around the crash-site is pretty, well, pretty. To the right (which is roughly northwards) is a sizeable copse of deciduous trees, just flowering; the grass all around is luscious and thick. There is a fair smell of salt in the air, indicating that the pilot brought you down somewhere close to the sea. The whole area looks like it was once cultivated, maybe, but with the retreat of humanity into fortified Enclaves and Arcologies, the old tamed countryside has been left to go feral.
There is no immediate sign of hostile forces, but given both your location and the fact that the (now-deceased) pilot told you that the launch was from the sea, the probability is that the unknown enemy (most probably the Dagonites) will show up at some point.
"Is anyone... anyone at all a doctor? Even first aid would help. I need anyone who can do anything to help me," she says, voice shaking. She moves over to the Nazzadi support trooper beside her seat, the anti-material specialist Mala. She straitens up almost immediately after attaching the medsensor in her kit to the port on his armour.
"Damn... damn... damn," she said, unplugging the cable from the port and rummaging in her bag. "Vitals are weak... l-l-looks like some... some internal bleeding. I'm going to have to act fast to save him!" she added, even as her hands shook as she jabbed a mild sedative into his neck, trying to slow his heartbeat.
Of the team, three, apart from the unfortunate Mala, appear to be not moving; a Nazzadi man and a woman clad in heavy combat armour, and a thinner woman in a ballistic vest. The last one is bleeding freely from her nose. When the door to the pilot's section is opened, the pilot is clearly dead, head at an angle that the human spine cannot support. His Nazzadi co-pilot is groaning, loudly, and appears to at least be alive, although you'd need a more detailed examination to see how he is.
This leaves the conscious, moving members of the crew as Salky, who is swearing under her breath as she tries to save the heavy-weapons trooper and the other six who had been bickering with each other before the attack.
Outside, as Aiguo manually breaks the magnetic seals on the back ramp, is a gouge torn into the Irish countryside, the rich green land scarred by the crash. The APC broke away from its holding with the first bounce; it's lying at the start of the wound in the land. It appears to be mostly intact, although, again, you'd probably need a trained engineer to look at it, as there's a chance that the impact broke the D-Engines or A-Pod. The former would be worse, as the vehicle could still move on its tracks if the A-Pod were broken, albeit slowly, while the vehicle (and its all important weapons) would be essentially useless without its main engine.
The area around the crash-site is pretty, well, pretty. To the right (which is roughly northwards) is a sizeable copse of deciduous trees, just flowering; the grass all around is luscious and thick. There is a fair smell of salt in the air, indicating that the pilot brought you down somewhere close to the sea. The whole area looks like it was once cultivated, maybe, but with the retreat of humanity into fortified Enclaves and Arcologies, the old tamed countryside has been left to go feral.
There is no immediate sign of hostile forces, but given both your location and the fact that the (now-deceased) pilot told you that the launch was from the sea, the probability is that the unknown enemy (most probably the Dagonites) will show up at some point.
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Losonti Tokash
- Apprentice
- Posts: 98
- Joined: Thu Sep 29, 2005 8:25 am
- 19
- Location: New Brunswick, NJ
- Contact:
#44
While checking the smaller woman with the nosebleed, Erik turned his head slightly toward Salky. "Paramedic. Stabilize him and I'll check on these three first, then the co-pilot." His focus returned to his patient. Erik hoped the nosebleed wasn't indicative of any serious cranial trauma, but he wouldn't be able to tell without a complete evaluation.
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Kurald Galain
- Acolyte
- Posts: 38
- Joined: Mon Feb 16, 2009 5:13 pm
- 15
- Location: Oregon
#45
Tyche realized that her eyes were squished shut, and that she hurt. Her mind backtracked, bringing up images of a vanishing officer and disintegrating plane, of wild jerking, and then a smash. That was when she closed her eyes, not the crash, but the flash of pain that it brought.
I’ve been hurt, she realized, forcing her eyes open, but not as bad as some, she continued the thought as she saw the three unmoving forms.
She unbuckled her harness, struggling towards the front of the plane to cheek on the co-pilot, and to see if the Wolverine’s radio still work.
I’ve been hurt, she realized, forcing her eyes open, but not as bad as some, she continued the thought as she saw the three unmoving forms.
She unbuckled her harness, struggling towards the front of the plane to cheek on the co-pilot, and to see if the Wolverine’s radio still work.
Out- out are the lights- out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
#46
Bertram had been listening, actually paying attention to the mission briefing, all the while taking it in. This was no milk run, this was a serious effort, but hopefully not catastrophic.
"Oh goody, someone is playing with fire and now we're going to get burned. I love these missions. Nothing ever goes horribly, horribly wrong." His voice dripped with sarcasm, knowing full well what level of danger they were about to get into.
Or at least he thought he did. As the Wolverine took fire, he had been here before. The sudden change in pressure, the jolting of the floor from underneath his feet. He took a long drag that finished off his cigarette and grit the filter between his teeth. "Hold on to your butts, kids, today just got worse."
Then the world went dark.
He awoke to a sharp pain in his side, where his body had slammed against the restraints a little too hard. Fortunately, he went limp and managed to avoid serious damage, but unfortunately, the pain on his side included the old wounds on his leg. He looked up at the Xenomix soldier that was currently hovering over him, gritting his teeth in pain. "Looks like we're off to a great start. I'll be fine, check the others."
The smell of death filled his nostrils. He hadn't been expecting that yet. He had been getting ready to steel himself for when he entered the facility, but now...now....
They had to leave. Between the D-Engines and everything else, things were going to get very serious, very quickly. "Right, Dagonites coming from the coast, they have big guns, and they at least know where we are." He fumbled through his pockets for his pack of smokes, taking one out and lighting it with shaking hands. He took a deep drag and checked himself for his own equipment, making sure to check for guns first, gear second, just to be safe.
"We need to leave, now. Get the APC running and over here so we don't have to carry the wounded too far. Medic, what do you need?"
"Oh goody, someone is playing with fire and now we're going to get burned. I love these missions. Nothing ever goes horribly, horribly wrong." His voice dripped with sarcasm, knowing full well what level of danger they were about to get into.
Or at least he thought he did. As the Wolverine took fire, he had been here before. The sudden change in pressure, the jolting of the floor from underneath his feet. He took a long drag that finished off his cigarette and grit the filter between his teeth. "Hold on to your butts, kids, today just got worse."
Then the world went dark.
He awoke to a sharp pain in his side, where his body had slammed against the restraints a little too hard. Fortunately, he went limp and managed to avoid serious damage, but unfortunately, the pain on his side included the old wounds on his leg. He looked up at the Xenomix soldier that was currently hovering over him, gritting his teeth in pain. "Looks like we're off to a great start. I'll be fine, check the others."
The smell of death filled his nostrils. He hadn't been expecting that yet. He had been getting ready to steel himself for when he entered the facility, but now...now....
They had to leave. Between the D-Engines and everything else, things were going to get very serious, very quickly. "Right, Dagonites coming from the coast, they have big guns, and they at least know where we are." He fumbled through his pockets for his pack of smokes, taking one out and lighting it with shaking hands. He took a deep drag and checked himself for his own equipment, making sure to check for guns first, gear second, just to be safe.
"We need to leave, now. Get the APC running and over here so we don't have to carry the wounded too far. Medic, what do you need?"
Last edited by Hotfoot on Fri Mar 06, 2009 4:10 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Losonti Tokash
- Apprentice
- Posts: 98
- Joined: Thu Sep 29, 2005 8:25 am
- 19
- Location: New Brunswick, NJ
- Contact:
#47
Erik pulled out a penlight and turned to Bertram to give out more instructions.
"See if you can get a response or pulse from those other two that are unconscious, then try and get the copilot to tell you what's wrong. After that I need everyone to tell me how they're hurt. Try not to move anybody unless you have to."
"See if you can get a response or pulse from those other two that are unconscious, then try and get the copilot to tell you what's wrong. After that I need everyone to tell me how they're hurt. Try not to move anybody unless you have to."
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frigidmagi
- Dragon Death-Marine General
- Posts: 14757
- Joined: Wed Jun 08, 2005 11:03 am
- 19
- Location: Alone and unafraid
#48
Aigou hack and spat.
"Do we have a radio?" He asked in his raspy graveled horror of a voice.
"Do we have a radio?" He asked in his raspy graveled horror of a voice.
"it takes two sides to end a war but only one to start one. And those who do not have swords may still die upon them." Tolken
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EarthScorpion
- Apprentice
- Posts: 82
- Joined: Sun Feb 15, 2009 8:14 am
- 15
#49
The radio (and, indeed, all the electronics) in the cockpit is out of operation. They just won't start up. The crash must have smashed something vital in the Werewolf; the D-Engine, probably, leaving what things are operational, such as the lights, running on the back-up D-Cells. It's just as well that modern generation D-Engines are designed to fail safely; the earliest models had a tendency to die in a rather catastrophic manner. The hand-held radio gear won't be powerful or secure enough to reach to HQ (it's only really suitable for the tactical level), but there's a back-up back-pack-sized in the main cabin, in one of the lockers, which seems to be working. The car battery sized D-Cell seems to be working fine
The Co-Pilot is in a bad state. Dovara can see, even with basic training, that both legs are broken; the shin-bones shattered when the front of the craft crumpled. The only reason he isn't screaming is that he's already used a painkiller from the med-kit beside him. That he'd managed to do that through the agony is quite amazing.
The three unconscious people in the main hold are in a better state; at a basic check, none of them seem to have broken bones, meaning that they should be easier to move. The one with the bleeding nose worries Erik, though; her vitals are very weak. The Nazzadi man remains unconscious, although nothing overtly wrong can be found with him, even as the woman in the heavy armour begins to stir, groaning.
Alex pops open the cockpit of his Powered Armour, sealing it behind him almost immediately. The systems diagnostic runs perfectly; the armour doesn't seem to be damaged at all by the crash. Even the custom alignments he'd had time to do on his AP-Cannon register as intact; the targeting system still operating above factory standards. As the glowing, holographic HUD lights up around him, indicating that both weapons register as fully loaded and armed, he suddenly starts feelings a lot safer. He disengages the mobility locks, and the three metre humanoid starts moving, its four optical sensors glowing a faint blue. It's a pity that it's in the greys, blues and whites of urban camouflage, but, dammit, they weren't meant to be shot down in the countryside.
The Co-Pilot is in a bad state. Dovara can see, even with basic training, that both legs are broken; the shin-bones shattered when the front of the craft crumpled. The only reason he isn't screaming is that he's already used a painkiller from the med-kit beside him. That he'd managed to do that through the agony is quite amazing.
The three unconscious people in the main hold are in a better state; at a basic check, none of them seem to have broken bones, meaning that they should be easier to move. The one with the bleeding nose worries Erik, though; her vitals are very weak. The Nazzadi man remains unconscious, although nothing overtly wrong can be found with him, even as the woman in the heavy armour begins to stir, groaning.
Alex pops open the cockpit of his Powered Armour, sealing it behind him almost immediately. The systems diagnostic runs perfectly; the armour doesn't seem to be damaged at all by the crash. Even the custom alignments he'd had time to do on his AP-Cannon register as intact; the targeting system still operating above factory standards. As the glowing, holographic HUD lights up around him, indicating that both weapons register as fully loaded and armed, he suddenly starts feelings a lot safer. He disengages the mobility locks, and the three metre humanoid starts moving, its four optical sensors glowing a faint blue. It's a pity that it's in the greys, blues and whites of urban camouflage, but, dammit, they weren't meant to be shot down in the countryside.
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#50
Now safely ensconced within his powered armour, Alex took a moment to relax his frazzled nerves before he briefly examined the other occupants of the Werewolf, and decided that everyone was either alright or knew what they were doing around those who weren't. He was much better at fixing machines than he was at fixing people.
Stepping out next to Aigu, he said with his external speakers turned down to a level barely above a whisper, "I've got my radar set to passive mode, so I'm not broadcasting our position - any more than this crash site already is - but I should be able to detect any active sweeps looking for us, friendly or hostile. Same for my IFF tag, although I can get that on in a second if necessary. Those shots came from the sea, so I'm betting on Dagonites, which means that they probably don't have the X-Ray gear to penetrate the stealth systems of the Ranger, so we need to get in there and get away from the coast as quickly as possible."
Stepping out next to Aigu, he said with his external speakers turned down to a level barely above a whisper, "I've got my radar set to passive mode, so I'm not broadcasting our position - any more than this crash site already is - but I should be able to detect any active sweeps looking for us, friendly or hostile. Same for my IFF tag, although I can get that on in a second if necessary. Those shots came from the sea, so I'm betting on Dagonites, which means that they probably don't have the X-Ray gear to penetrate the stealth systems of the Ranger, so we need to get in there and get away from the coast as quickly as possible."